


More than a Medal

by Ephermeralk



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Anal Sex, Bottom Jensen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-18
Updated: 2014-02-18
Packaged: 2018-01-12 23:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1204837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ephermeralk/pseuds/Ephermeralk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the prompt: Jared's ski breaks mid-race and Jensen is a coach from an opposing team who comes to his rescue, kneeling down to affix a new ski and send him on to the finish. Jared shows up at his door that night with a bottle of vodka as a thank you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	More than a Medal

**Author's Note:**

> I claim only, and all of the errors.
> 
> A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY to my wonderful, amazing friend [](http://sleepypercy.livejournal.com/profile)[**sleepypercy**](http://sleepypercy.livejournal.com/)!I'm so glad I've gotten to know you in these past few months :) Because birthdays are for porn, I managed to wrangle Jensen in Jared’s clothing for you! Also filling the prompt from [](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/profile)[**deirdre_c**](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/)s [ Winter Olympics J2-Sam/Dean Porn Comment Fic Meme](http://deirdre-c.livejournal.com/518391.html). Which got way out of hand, length wise.

Adrenaline floods through Jared’s senses as he snaps on his skis and heads into the starting gate, forcing his heart to pound hard enough that Jared thinks it might literally burst out of his chest. It’s his first time racing the Downhill event in the Winter Olympics, and from what he’s heard today, this course could kill him. Literally.

The run consists of a three thousand and five hundred foot vertical drop in two-point-two miles. The downhill skis that are currently strapped to Jared’s feet don’t turn unless he’s clocking over fifty miles per hour and on this course, Jared could easily break eight-five. Given those stats, if all goes well, he’ll be at the bottom in under two minutes.

Jared jumps a few times and shakes out his upper body, getting rid of any residual tension. He needs a smooth ride in order to make it to the finish. After loosening his limbs, he tries to remember everything that his fellow Americans have told him about the run—especially those who have missed the gates.

The top seems to be easy; up at the start he’s only got to contend with the layer of ice. It’s not as pleasant as skiing through powder, but it won’t throw Jared off the course. Ice can be managed with extra attention to balance and his sharply tuned skis. The bottom third of the run is what’s been knocking off the less prepared skiers. It’s nearly twenty degrees warmer at the finish, and the icy snow has already given way to slush under the warm Sochi sun. Jared will need to remember not to let his edges get caught in the thick, wet snow.

He takes one final breath and exhales as the yells of “Go, Go, GO!” reach his ears. And then Jared’s barreling down the mountain.

His skis skid over the layer of ice as he negotiates each element of the course—the Russian trampoline, the toboggan, and then, before he knows it, he’s tucking tightly, trying to gain speed as he races down the Estonian tube.

Jared’s flying through the crisp spring air on the snow covered slope outside of Sochi, making it over the lake jump, when he realizes that he’s _nailed this death trap of a course_. He’s going to land exactly where he needs to be in order to negotiate the next gate, and hell, with everyone who’s gone off track here, Jared might just have a shot at the podium.

His skis hit the ground where he expected although he lands harder than he anticipated; all two-hundred-and-thirty pounds of muscle that he’s forced onto these two carbon-Kevlar cut boards jolt viciously with the impact. He’s prepared to make the necessary adjustments although he knows it’s going to cost him time when he hears a resounding _snap._ His entire weight shifts to his right leg, knocking him off balance.

He doesn’t need to look down to notice that his left ski didn’t quick release—it had broken in half. Jared tries to angle his body, digging his only good edge deep into the snow. At this point he’s only aiming to slow his body down.

Once he’s managed to wrangle his body into a sitting position on the slope, Jared realizes that despite the fact that he’s down one ski, he’s not off course. If he could get ahold of another ski, he could still finish the race. Granted, he won’t be winning the gold, but he’ll still get to cross the red line that’s calling his name at the bottom.

Jared takes off his helmet and shakes the sweat out of his hair as he looks towards the people congregated on the sidelines. There’s always the chance that his coach might have an extra set of skis. It’s not like no one’s ever snapped a ski on a Downhill course before.

He’s just about to shout out to the crowd “Anyone got an extra pair of skis I could use?” when he sees a man running his way with a bright red but very _not broken_ pair of skis. As the guy makes his way closer Jared can tell that it’s the coach of Canada’s team. The infamous Jensen Ackles.

Although Jared’s never met him, Jared knows all about him. The man had won more gold medals in the last three Olympics than any other alpine skier. So what if Jared had plastered posters of Jensen over his room when he was a teenager. He was the world’s best Downhill champion with the body and the face of sex god. Jared had been fifteen at the time, and his rampant hormones had taken over his bedroom with the need to plaster _Jensen Ackles’ face_ over every inch of available plaster.

Now that Jared’s face-to-face with his teenage jerk-off fantasy, he can hardly speak.

“Hey!” Jensen says to him, out of breath from running through the water-logged snow. “I’ve got this extra pair here, they were for my skier—you know Amell? But he didn’t make it down the hill, so I figured you could use them.”

Jared can only nod as he notices how the cold has tinged Jensen’s freckle splattered face with red. It shouldn’t be possible, but he’s even more beautiful without the photo-shopping.

“Okay. So they’ll be a few inches shorter than you’re used to. Amell is 6’1” and 210, so you can adjust from there.”

Ackles stands there for a second, waiting for Jared to snap off the remains of his skis and trade him, but Jared’s having trouble forming a coherent thought. He doesn’t move.

Jensen pulls his hands and the skis back. “Unless you don’t want to, of course. There’s no shame in that, you know. Over half best skiers in the world haven’t be able to make over the lake jump. I just thought since you’d had such a great run that you might want to finish.”

The word _finish_ snaps Jared back into action and he pulls off his skis in seconds, handing them out for Jensen to take. Jared wishes that his gloves could disappear in the moment that Jensen’s hand touches his, but unfortunately they don’t, and his skin doesn’t get nearly close enough to tell if Jensen’s hands are as smooth as they look.

Jensen puts the used skis to the side and kneels down in the snow next to Jared.

“Here, let me,” Jensen says in his gravelly low voice as he snaps both skis into the bindings on Jared’s boot-covered feet.

Jared stands up, testing the balance on his new equipment. Not perfect, but it’ll work.

He looks down to where Jensen’s still kneeling in the white snow and flashes Jensen his best dimpled grin, the one that his mom had always called a ‘lady-killer’ until he gently told her that he preferred boys. And that no, his desire for dick wouldn’t get in the way of her having grandkids.

“Thanks, man,” Jared says, clapping Jensen on the shoulder. “You’re a life saver.”

Jensen smiles back and says “Good luck, Jared,” right as Jared uses his poles to start gaining momentum as he travels down the slope and over the finish line.

It takes him less than thirty seconds to slide over the red stripe at the bottom. The sound of the crowd cheering fills his ears, and Jared raises a hand to emphasize his victory over the mountain. But Jared can hardly focus on the fact that he finished his first Olympic Downhill race because Jensen Ackles knew his name. _Jensen Ackles knew who Jared was_ , and despite being the coach of their rival team, he had _helped him_.

When the first of many microphones is shoved in Jared’s face he can only spout out “I’m very thankful to the Canadian coach who gratefully provided me with the skis I needed so that I could finish the Downhill event.”

\--

Jared spends the rest of his day giving interviews, watching replays of his run down the mountain, and discussing tactics with his coach for his next race—the Super G.

He runs into Amell in the Olympic village after dinner, and casually asks where his coach his staying, stating that he didn’t get the chance to thank him properly. Amell gives him directions along with a warning of “Jensen’s not in a great mood tonight, so you might want to save your gratitude for another day, Padalecki,” before sauntering off towards the sauna.

Jared resists the urge to ditch his plans and relax in room of heat and steam next to his fellow athletes. Instead, he buys a bottle of vodka and then proceeds to pace back and forth in front of Jensen’s apartment before he works up the nerve to knock.

\--

It takes Jared knocking five distinct times on Jensen’s door for him to answer, and when he does, he only opens the door a fraction of an inch. Enough to peer out at Jared and say “Yeah?”

“Uhm, hi. I’m Jared Padalecki, and you helped me out with my skis on the Downhill today…”

“Yeah?”

Jared shifts uneasily. This interaction is not going as smoothly as when he had played it over in his head. He tries again, smiling wide enough that his cheek bones legitimately hurt.

“Well, I didn’t get a chance to thank you properly when I was on the course, and I didn’t see you after the event was over…”

“You’re welcome,” comes Jensen’s curt reply. He moves to close the door, but Jared catches it with his foot.

“I brought vodka,” Jared says.

“That’s not saying much. Vodka’s cheaper than water around here.”

Jared shrugs. “I bought the good stuff. So, you gonna invite me in or what?”

Jensen narrows his eyes at Jared, appraising him. Jared’s a little unsure about how to act in this situation, but he goes for unwavering eye contact and holding his smile. In most primates, his expression would be seen as a direct act of aggression, but luckily for Jared, Jensen’s not _most primates_. Jensen gives a reluctant sigh, and opens the door wide enough for Jared to pass through.

“Don’t make me regret this,” he states.

“Cross my heart, pinky promise,” Jared nods seriously, and holds out his littlest finger for Jensen to take. To his surprise, Jensen actually wraps his own pinky around Jared’s. He’s met with a jolt of electricity.

“Ow!” he yelps. “You shocked me.”

Jensen raises his eyebrows in mockery, as Jared holds his shocked hand against his team coat.

“So you can come back from a fall at 80 miles-per-hour, but you can’t take a little static electricity?” he questions.

Jared’s sensing a direct assault to his manhood, so he stands up a little straighter and releases his hand. It still stings.

“I’m fine, but I’ve got the feeling that some of the vodka might be just the right medicine,” Jared says, as he pushes the bottle into Jensen’s hands.

Jensen takes it and ushers Jared into the kitchen where he takes out two shot glasses and a bottle of cranberry juice. Jared winces at the mere thought of knocking back vodka with nothing to chase down the alcohol except the sharp taste of sour berries.

“Any chance you got anything sweeter than that, man? Cranberry juice is a bit hard on my tastebuds…”

Jensen shakes his head. “Cranberry juice, milk, or water. Those are your options.”

Jared tries to make a pleasant grin appear on his face, but he can tell his smile is waning from the way that Jensen’s is brightening at his discomfort.

“Well…?”

“Cranberry is great,” Jared manages to get out.

“Excellent,” Jensen says as he pours the vodka out into equal portions and clinks his glass against Jared’s saying “Za-stah-rov-yeh!”

“Bless you?” Jared says uncertainly. It had kind of sounded like an awkward sneeze.

Jensen raises an eyebrow at Jared. “It means ‘to good health’ in Russian. Did your country teach you nothing before you came here?” he asks in a slightly unbelieving tone.

Jared quickly knocks back two shots in succession before answering Jensen. He definitely needs some liquid courage to continue this conversation.

“I know things. Like that Russians believe that vodka goes bad if you open it, so we’ve got to drink the whole bottle.”

“But _we’re_ not Russian, and we know that vodka does not, in fact, go bad.”

Jared just shoves another shot into Jensen’s hand, which Jensen swallows down without too much  
protestation.

\--

They make it almost three-quarters of the way through the bottle before Jensen admits that he likes the way Jared skis, and that he likes the way Jared looks, too.

“I mean, seriously man. You’re like a fucking giant Canadian moose. Have you ever seen one?”

Jared shakes his head no, and Jensen tries to gesture with his hands how big a moose is. He looks kind of like a wind-mill, but Jared gets the idea that he’s aiming for _big_ with his flailing.

“Well, fuck. You’ve got to come to Canada now. See the moose. Moose are fucking adorable, d’yknow that?” Jensen’s seriously starting to slur his words, and Jared thinks it’s pretty cute. It’s probably because the vodka’s done a number on his head, and he’s found himself agreeing with everything that has come out of Jensen’s mouth in the last hour.

Jensen walks over to the chair where Jensen had placed his Downhill ski team jacket on the back of a chair. “I’ve always wondered… are you Polish or somethin’? Because Padalecki sure ain’t American.”  
Jared laughs. “I know right? You can imagine how much crap I got for that in elementary school. And I’d always know my name was next on roll call, because the teacher would stop and stare at the paper. But no. I’m personally from Texas.”

Jensen throws his head back and laughs a fully belly laugh that echoes through the empty apartment. “A boy from Texas who grew up to ski the Downhill course in the Olympics. You don’t see that every day.”

Jared shrugs “I guess not. What can I say. I had cool parents.”

Jensen grins slyly. “And good coaches?”

“Not as good as you.”

“Of course not.” Jensen pulls off his own Team Canada hoodie, and slips into Jared’s Team USA jacket.

“What do you think Jared, do I make a good American?”

It shouldn’t be that attractive. The sleeves are too long, and the jacket hangs a few inches past Jensen’s sweat pants. But fuck, Jared’s buzzed, and Jensen’s wearing his clothes. And although he can’t see it, he knows that the word _Padalecki_ is printed across the back.

Jared walks over and pins Jensen against his dining room table. “Why? Do you want to be a Padalecki?” he asks, not really realizing until he’s done speaking that he’s just popped his first marriage proposal.

Jensen licks his lips and cants his hips up towards Jared’s, giving Jared the briefest hint of an erection underneath his sweats.

“You offering? I admit, dual citizenship would be a perk. But we’ve definitely got the better slopes.”

Jared leans forward, pressing his hard on into Jensen’s. “So Texas in the summer, Vancouver in the winter?” he negotiates.

Jensen hops back onto the table and reaches his hand down to palm Jared’s crotch over his jeans.

“Deal. Now, less talking, more touching.”

It’s definitely a plan that Jared can get behind as he leans down to press his lips against Jensen’s for the first time. Jensen opens up immediately, and Jared slides his tongue inside. He tastes mostly of vodka and cranberries, but the underlying flavor of Jensen underneath is enough to have him licking every millimeter of Jensen’s mouth.

Jared gives up tongue dominance for thrusting against Jensen, who’s hooked his legs around Jared’s thighs and his feet against Jared’s ass. Jared’s erection has taken on a painful edge inside of his pants, so he breaks away from Jensen, who looks surprised until Jared says “Bed?” after taking a few deep breaths.

Jensen nods. “Don’t have lube though.”

Jared didn’t think that he’d get the chance to be balls deep inside Jensen Ackles’ ass tonight, otherwise he would have brought his bottle with him.

“Got lotion?”

“If you don’t mind my ass smelling like _Axe._ ”

“Do you?”

Jensen shrugs. “I’ll live.”

\--

Once Jared’s deposited Jensen on top of his bed, he tries to make quick work divesting himself of his clothing. Jensen, however, has other plans.

“C’mon Jared. Slowly, like it’s sexy that you’re taking off your clothes. You’re not gaining any finesse points with that utilitarian style.”

Jared blushes, but he does what Jensen says, slowly sliding his pants down and gradually removing his shirt over his head, exposing all his upper body strength in the process. He takes off his socks, despite the fact that his feet are screaming that it’s too cold already. And then he gently hooks his thumbs into his briefs, pushing them down his legs until he’s completely naked.

He steps towards Jensen. “I think you’ve got a few articles of clothing to remove as well,” he says with a smirk. Jensen starts with unzipping Jared’s jacket that he’s kept on, until Jared stops him. “No. Not that one. I want to fuck you while you’re wearing Team USA’s jacket and my name across your back.”

“Fuck. Yeah, okay,” Jensen grunts, as he kicks off his pants. He’s not wearing underwear.

Jared lays Jensen on his back, and starts placing kisses up Jensen’s thighs.

“Jared…” Jensen whines from above him.

Jared runs his hand up Jensen’s thigh. “Yeah Jensen?”

“Please fuck me. It’s been too long.”

Jared really wants to taste Jensen’s cock, but he’s not about to argue with Jensen’s request. There’ll be time for blow jobs in the morning. He hopes.

“Okay. Get on your hands and knees while I grab the lotion and a condom,” he states, impressed that he’s still able to think relatively clearly.

When Jared returns, Jensen’s already got two spit slick fingers in his ass.

“Fuck, Jensen. You look so hot like that,” Jared says, making quick work of putting the condom on his dick so that he won’t have to stop later. He’ll just be able to slide right into Jensen.

Jared slicks up two of his own fingers, and he works one of them inside of Jensen. Jensen groans, and makes a move to remove his hand.

“Keep fucking yourself, Jensen. I’m gonna add my fingers in there next to yours.”

Jensen must agree because he thrusts back further when Jared adds a forth finger slowly into Jensen’s ass. His rim is stretched tight, and Jared can’t wait to be inside any longer.

“Okay Jensen. I’m gonna put my cock inside of you now. Is that okay?”

Jensen removes his fingers and tips his ass back, but that’s not enough for Jared. He needs more than Jensen’s body submitting.

“Jensen, do you want this? Because you can still back out now, it’s okay.”

“God no I don’t want to back out now. What the fuck are you waiting for? An engraved invitation? Because I got to tell you, I have no interest in learning calligraphy.”

On that note, Jared really wants Jensen to stop talking, so he lines himself up against Jensen’s hole and pushes in. He doesn’t relent, doesn’t give Jensen time to fully recover from the feeling of being breached when he thrusts himself as deep as he can go. He can literally feel Jensen opening up around him.

“Does that feel good, Jensen?” he asks, feeling the need to talk, “Because you’re so hot and tight around me. Gods know how, after you took four fingers earlier.”

“Shut up and fuck me, Jared,” is the only reply that he receives.

Jared focuses his attention on squeezing bruises into Jensen’s hipbones—a reminder for later, and on how Jensen looks fucking _hot_ around his cock. And Jared can’t help but grin at his last name splashed across his jacket that Jensen’s still wearing.

He reaches around to help Jensen get off, and finds Jensen’s hand jacking his own dick in rapid strokes. Jared licks the outside of Jensen’s ear. “Here, let me,” he whispers, as he removes Jensen’s hand and encompasses Jensen’s dick in his fist.

It only takes a few quick slides over the shaft combined with a few gentle rubs against the vein on the underside until Jensen’s coming all over Jared’s hand and his own body. Jared takes the time to chase his own orgasm, pounding into Jensen until he feels his balls snug against his body, and his dick twitch against Jensen’s prostate, filling up Jensen’s insides with his own DNA. Jensen moans out a strangled groan from underneath him.

Jared makes gentle thrusts until his orgasm has passed, and then he pulls Jensen to his chest, moving them into a side-lying position. The motion dislodges Jared from Jensen, who protests by grinding his ass into Jared’s groin.

“Can’t get it up again that quick, dude, sorry,” Jared mumbles, already starting to fall asleep.

“Later tonight?” Jensen asks.

Jared pulls Jensen closer to his chest. “How about tomorrow morning?”

He waits for a response, but all he gets in return is Jensen’s soft snores.

\--

After another round of sex, a breakfast of eggs and unfortunately more cranberry juice, they both have to get back to the slopes. Jensen’s got to coach, and Jared’s got to practice for his next race.

Jensen holds Jared’s jacket out to him. “Don’t forget it,” Jensen says, trying to shove the black coat into Jared’s hands.

“No, Jensen. I want you to keep it. At least, until you move in with me in Texas, and get one of your own.”

“You mean when you move up to Vancouver to spend your days with me and Whistler, eh?”

“Yeah, that too.”

Jared leans down to kiss Jensen on the lips. “Have a good day today. Want to get food afterwards?”

Jensen smirks. “So you’re going to buy me dinner instead of just getting me drunk?”

Jared shrugs. “I’ll take my chances.”

“If I had to place a bet, I’d say you’ll probably get the gold on that front.”

“I sure hope you’re right,” Jared says as he heads out for another day on the mountain. He might not have gotten on the podium, but he did get Jensen Ackles. And in Jared’s opinion, Jensen is infinitely more valuable.


End file.
